


Chaleur

by BlackMamba



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Character of Color, F/M, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-06
Updated: 2010-03-06
Packaged: 2017-10-07 18:20:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackMamba/pseuds/BlackMamba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When she shows up that first night, he's not surprised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chaleur

**Author's Note:**

> This is off canon, based on The Uncanny X-Men Issue #266 and beyond. This is set after Storm was trapped in a twelve year old body, befriended Gambit and returned to the X-Men with him in tow. After she returned to adulthood I thought Gambit might not take the change in their relationship very well.

They treat him like the thief he is and the hypocrisy's so thick he's liable to choke on it. The Forge fellow in particular, he cuts eyes whenever Ororo's in the room, hovering with those meaty paws he calls hands. He grips her shoulder while she's talking, chest all puffy like she's some kind of trophy.

Stormy's no trophy. But she's not a little girl anymore either. Here she's the queen bee, voice booming like God himself while she's giving orders. Do this. Go there. Don't tell 'em who you are. Kill the motherfuckers if need be. And they don't question her too much, besides a nervous look now and then. She pretends not to see it, but he can tell it works her nerves.

Back when it was just them, she'd crawl into his bed some nights, whispering about the walls closing in and how the air in her room was too thick to breathe. So when she shows up that first night, he's not surprised. She'd used that hellfire tone of hers to send some little ones into a fight they didn't come back from. She's dragging the guilt like cement blocks, those blue eyes clouded with the same rain that's pouring outside. The weather witch is drowning and needs the swamp rat to help her float.

She tells him just to talk, _I need to hear your voice._ So he does, about New Orleans, the way they ran things down there and how brave she was when it got too tight. _Remy shoulda known you was more dan just some lil' girl,_ he says. _Those eyes._

She talks about the Shadow King for the first time since it happened, says it was like dying, being frozen in that body, the world going on without her. And then she sleeps, loose and limp like a baby, something these folks have probably never seen before. They'd call her weak most likely, take away the shiny yellow suit if she did. That's what hypocrites do, pick at any chink they can find in someone else's armor while they're busy putting band aides over their own.

And that's how it goes for a while. Remy plays good Gambit during the day, her little worker bee, hopping on her say so while they keep reminding him of his place. _You're only here because of her. You try anything and you're gone._

At night he keeps the walls from closing in, makes sure she's still breathing easy while she's curled against his chest like a babe. He starts to wonder if this is all there is, saving hides without a bit of gratitude and playing nursemaid to someone else's girl.

"What'd you think if I moved on Stormy?"

"Don't call me that. And we need you Gambit, you're not going anywhere."

Another one of those God commands.

She's been doing this a month now, taking comfort but not giving any in return, so the kiss is more angry than anything else because he's decided that he wants it. All those long nights of curvy legs thrown across his thighs and he's damn near ready to _take_ it from her. It's been a while since he stole something pretty.

"What are you doing?"

She's pushing at his chest, but not like she means it, more of a virgin tussle like she's done this dance before. "You wan' Remy t'stay, I'm thinkin' I need a reason chere." He makes his point by grabbing her hand and pressing it against his erection. No more sneaking to the little boy's room and handling things himself. She wants to cozy up to a man she'll deal with him like one.

She's mad though. The room's getting colder, like she's trying to freeze him into changing his mind. He kisses her, moves those fingers up and down a bit so she knows exactly what he's offering. The chill fades away and she starts stroking him on her own, which makes him feel like he's won the goddamn lottery, climbed some mountain he didn't know he was on. She wants him. They'd choke on it if they knew. Lying, thieving Remy Lebeau is the one she's getting it wet for now.

He's pictured her naked more times than he'd care to admit, but the real thing beats all, like dark skin carved out of some satiny kind of stone. She's all muscle and soft flesh, a contradiction if he's ever seen one. She tries to take off his shirt but he pushes her hands away.

"Spread your legs Stormy." She doesn't correct him this time, just parts them like he says because she knows that's who she is now, Remy's Stormy, not Ororo with the lightening in her eyes. And she tastes like rain, damned if it's not rain sliding down his throat while he's sucking on her clit and tongue fucking those little grunts from her throat. She's sweet too, sweeter than he would have thought and it takes a while before he's ready to come up for air. She comes again before he finally moves away.

"You gonna beg me?" He's pushed his pants low on his hips and she's got her eyes fixed between his legs. He strokes it a bit for her benefit. "I'd sure like if you'd ask for it chere."

"I don't beg." She scoots away, with a haughty _fuck you_ tilt to her chin. She's gotten hers and is more than ready to run so he grabs her arms and holds her down.

"Release me." She could throw him off, wallop him a few times for good measure but she doesn't move, just lies there, cunt still shiny from his mouth. The woman never met a fight she didn't pick.

"Dôn go orderin' me around. _J'ai pas fini_ and dis is ma bed, you come t'_ ma_ bed." He grabs one leg and pushes it high against her chest, no asking or taking, just laying claim to what's his. He thrusts deep and her body grips his shaft like it agrees.

She moans his name, _Remy_, a prayer for salvation, as though _he's_ the god since he's fucking her like one, so hard and deep he's sure it hurts like hell. But she likes it, spreads her legs wider and does some of the begging she got so prissy about earlier, _harder_, she moans, even though the bed's knocking dents into the wall. _Fuck me harder Remy._

He turns her over and pulls her up to her knees. It's a beautiful sight, _a beautiful damn sight_ and he tells her as much when he guides his way back in. He reaches around and grips her between the legs, two fingers at her clit, the heel of his hand against her mound. His thrusts now have a goal, that pressure he's created against her body. She's got one hand on the headboard and the other is gripping the nape his neck.

He asks if she wants more but she's done talking, just nods and pushes her ass more firmly against his body. Remy charges her, just a little spark against her clit. Her body bucks and trembles, her muscles contracting in a slippery wet thank you. "_T'aimes ça?_" He charges again and she cries out, gulping down air like he's seeping it from her lungs. "You like a lil' bit a hurt—" He charges again. "Dôn you chere?"

"Yes." He can feel her coming. It's little tremors, pulsing on his shaft and he's thrusting harder now, into a slippery hot vice, the tightest he's ever had, he's sure of it. And so warm, maybe all that sun and sky boiling somewhere under her skin, but whatever it is has got him covered in sweat, dizzy and short of breath, but there's no way he'll stop fucking her. He'll die like this if need be, but he will _never_ stop fucking this woman.

She leans back and kisses him, breathing his name against his lips. That's what does it, takes what control he's got left. He's grinding and moaning, his come spilling down her thighs. It makes him smile, her carrying him around like that. Not so much a brand as…well yeah, it's like his brand.

"You will not tell them about this." She's back to giving orders again, sticky thighs and all. "It would undermine—"

"I got you Stormy. No tellin' tales outside of school."

"Must you insist on calling me that?"

He pushes her hair back from her shoulders, still inside, flaccid but stiff enough to be slow about leaving. "_Mais_, I tell you what. How 'bout I use it when you bare ass naked in ma bed, how dat be?"

"So does that mean you're staying?"

He kisses her shoulder. "Dôn worry chere. I'm not goin' anywhere."


End file.
